


Taking Care Of

by Anonymous



Category: Cinderella (1997)
Genre: Backstory, Blood, Crossdressing, F/M, Pre-Canon, and a little post-canon, ritual self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Constantina does have other concerns, but her first one has always been the welfare of her people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Care Of

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nabielka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/gifts).



Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a beautiful kingdom where the sun shone more often than it didn’t, and there wasn’t a corner in the land that wasn’t full of colour and music. This kingdom was ruled by a young queen whose name was Constantina. Queen Constantina had taken over the duty of governance after overthrowing her wicked father, whose rule had been long and cruel.

Following that ordeal, all seemed to be going well for the people of this fair land. Crops prospered, bakers invented new confections that were more and more impressive, and the overall quality of songs seemed to increase tenfold. But one day it became apparent that a terrible pestilence had struck the kingdom, striking people down where they stood and bringing them right to death’s door. Many believed it was the last remnant of the wicked King, a curse left behind to see to it that he had the last laugh, even in death. Some said it was surely the work of a wicked sorcerer, and some even believed it was punishment from a god, though no one could agree on which god that might be. A few thought it might have something to do with the plague of mosquitos that blew through the village a few weeks before, but they were a very small minority and quickly silenced.

Queen Constantina had many advisors and researchers and spies, but even after accumulating all the information she should, she still didn’t know what to believe.

She also didn’t give a damn, ultimately. What mattered to Queen Constantina was the terrible pain and fear the people down in the village were suffering. Many people had died, including her favourite artisan, the glass blower down in the village. Children were being orphaned. Queen Constantina was terrified. The doctors she was sending down to the village were unable to do anything. Magic, she was sure, was her only hope.

Queen Constantina had heard tell from the kitchen maids of a winter witch who lived high in the mountains. She was said to have great power, and to be a friend to all who were feminine.. "Surely," they whispered to each other, "surely the good witch would save us if only she knew how desperate we are."

So Queen Constantina made ready to climb the mountain and commanded that none should follow her.

The journey was long and arduous. For three days she hiked, following the river all the way up until finally she came to its source, a tiny bubbling spring off of which copious amounts of steam spilled into the chill air, and sure enough, there was a cottage nearby.

She knocked at the door, which was answered by a tiny old woman with fluffy white halo of kinky hair and a thick pair of spectacles perched on her large, round nose.

“What is it?” yelled the old woman, squinting up at her.

“Hello,” said the queen. “You don’t know me, but—”

“Don’t know you my ass,” said the winter witch. “You’re the one who started that war a few years back.”

“I’m also the one who ended it,” said Queen Constantina stiffly.

“Oh yes,” said the winter witch slowly. “No doubt about that. You’ll be here about the plague, then.”

“How do you—”

“Oh don’t ask me how I know things, child, nobody who’s seen my method of scrying has ever been glad they asked. I know what your problem is, and I'm afraid there isn't much I can do," the witch said. "I'm reaching the end of my life, and I no longer have the power to fix something as terrible as this sickness."

“But surely there’s _something_ you can do,” Queen Constantina pressed, a hint of carefully calculated hysteria in her voice.

"All right," said the witch. "There is one thing. I will put a spell on your blood, that a few drops will turn the entire river into healing water. But every year you or one of your descendants must return to the source of the river and feed it a few drops of your blood. Otherwise the plague will return and the entire kingdom will be laid waste.”

And as was the way of people in this land, a song was sung while the spell was cast, and when the last notes had faded away, Queen Constantina went out to the spring and pricked her finger with her dagger and let three drops of blood fall into the water.

~

The cure worked. By the time Queen Constantina returned to her palace, everyone who drank the water had grown strong once again. She arranged to have the witch's cottage replaced with a luxurious lodge made to the witch’s specification, and there the good old woman lived out the rest of her days in peace.

Every year Queen Constantina went back to the spring and fed it three drops of her blood, and every year after the witch’s death, the journey became more and more difficult, as though the curse was trying to keep her away. 

After nearly dying on the journey three years in a row, Queen Constantina became deeply afraid that she would die without producing an heir who could continue to make the necessary pilgrimage to keep the plague at bay. She decided to begin searching in earnest for a suitable father for the many children she hoped to have, to increase the chances of keeping her people safe for ever. Eventually she settled on the son of a Countess, whom she had met at one of the annual midsummer balls.

Not long after Prince Christopher was born, it became clear that Queen Constantina would be unable to bear any more children. The fear for her people that she had expected to subside only increased, and she began planning.

*

“So what do you think, Max?” Queen Constantina said, putting down the scroll and looking at her husband over her royal reading glasses.

“Hm?” King Maximilian was sitting at a table, chin in his hand, brow furrowed, fingers were hovering above the only knight he had left on the chessboard, and as she watched him, he slowly withdrew them.

“My story, Max,” she said. “How do you like it?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” said Maximilian, still examining the chessboard. “Enchanting. Riveting, even. You really captured the… ah… aha!” He moved his castle two squares to the left and smirked at his wife.

Queen Constantina stood up from behind her desk and strode over to stand across the table from him. She moved her bishop forward three squares to the right.

“Checkmate,” she said. King Maximilian slumped a little, and cradled his forehead in his hand.

“Not again,” he murmered.

“Oh, don’t sulk, dear, you are getting better.” Constantina went to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve been saying that for the last thirty years and you still beat me every, every time,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist and burying his face in her side.

“Well of course I do. I am brilliant,” she said, petting his hair.

“Yes, you are,” he said. “And to be perfectly honest, I don’t think that story of yours does you justice at all.”

“No?”

“No. You’ve left out the best part.”

“And what's that?”

“How you took care of that rascal of a Countess’s son who kept trying to steal your prettiest ballgowns.”

“But I didn’t take care of him,” she said. “He’s still running loose around the palace. He’s just stopped stealing gowns because he’s so salty about no longer looking as androgynous as he did when he was a young man.”

“But you’ve indulged his taste for fine fabrics. And you continue to save him and his family every year, for which he is eternally grateful.”

“I don’t do it just for you, Max.”

“I know,” said the King. “That’s why I admire you so much.”


End file.
